


No one shall make them afraid

by Iwillgladlyjointhefight



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blow Jobs, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, Hipster Tallmadge, John and Alex are basically attached at the hip, M/M, Mob Boss George Washington, Rimming, Smut, Stripper Lafayette, Strippers & Strip Clubs, the NSA must have had an awesome time with my preliminary researches for this AU, this is NOT me endorsing any kind of gang activities or violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillgladlyjointhefight/pseuds/Iwillgladlyjointhefight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Washington has quite the little organization going on for him. Loyal colonels, more friends than employees, really; more money than he would know what to do with. The only thing he doesn't have is a weakness. One just walked in, though, speaking French and not caring if you come home with a little blood on your hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You look like you need someone to take care of you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all ! It is I, your favorite fighting Frenchwoman (what.)  
> If you follow me on Tumblr, you'll know that this has been a project I am particularly excited about. Half the credit goes to @transaaronburr, asphodelgrimoire on ao3. This was born of nights screaming headcanons at each other.  
> Thank you to my beautiful beta reader, known on ao3 as singoeshere. I love you, even though you insist on calling this the Washingmob.
> 
> Quick word of warning !!  
> I don't endorse violence at all and I'm resolutely pro gun control. In fact, after the recent events in Orlando, I really thought I would NOT write this AU which has some violence by nature. That being said, in no case in that story will anyone be shot or equivalent for their sexuality, race or gender. This is fiction, people.

Angelica Schuyler stepped off the plane among the crowd of busy businessmen and cheerful tourists, slinging her messenger bag over her bare left shoulder. The heat, although it was very early morning already – or maybe it was from being on the plane, the man next to her kept crowding into her space and there is only so much passive aggression you can exude without getting noticed too much –, was clinging to her body in a fine layer, making her dark skin gleam ; she had touched up her make up on the plane but was pretty sure her lipstick was already smudging with the tiny beads of sweat she could feel on her upper lip. She finally got to the customs officer and handed him her passport.

« [Buenos días](Good%20morning). ¿ [Por negocios o por placer](For%20business%20or%20for%20pleasure) ? » asked the portly man. She did not envy his moustache. She wondered if he had AC behind his glass window. She spotted the picture of an aging woman next to his ancient computer, his arm over her shoulder with a proud grin on his face. His mother, without a doubt.

« [Por placer, señor](For%20pleasure,%20sir). [No he visto a mi familia en años](I%20haven't%20seen%20my%20family%20in%20ages). [Los echo de menos](I%20miss%20them). » She did her best to look eager and sincere.

« ¿[ Familia es tan preciosa](Family%20is%20so%20precious), eh ? [Disfrute su estancia, señorita](Enjoy%20your%20stay,%20miss). »

«[ Muchas gracias](Thanks%20a%20lot). » She took back her passport, sliding it into her denim shorts' back pocket.

« [Bienvenido a Colombia, señorita Donovan](Welcome%20to%20Colombia,%20miss%20Donovan), » he called with a fond smile.

 

Hercules Mulligan opened an eye, still heavy with sleep and a pending migraine. His phone, next to his head, had buzzed twice in five minutes. He rolled over, wincing as he set the brightness of the screen to the lowest setting, debating whether he should get up now and get an Advil or just plain go back to sleep after having read the texts. The first one was from Angelica : a dancing emoji followed by a sleeping emoji. He smiled despite himself. Angelica had arrived in Bogotá ; as for the sleeping emoji, she probably was just making fun of him for having decided – and told her yesterday – that he was definitely taking a day off after having walked in on John and Alex getting it on once again in the bathroom by his office. Not even in one of the stalls, no : over the sink. There wasn't enough disinfectant in the world, nor enough eye bleach. The second text was from his mother, inviting him over for lunch on Sunday. He sighed. Sundays were never the day the shipments came in ; he didn't even have that excuse to decline. Even the mob needed rest on the seventh day.

 

Alexander Hamilton woke up to his heater of a boyfriend radiating body warmth with the power of a thousand suns. It may not have helped that John Laurens was currently wrapped around him, breathing loudly in his ear, his whole left side pressing against Alex's slight frame. He was effectively stuck. John hated to be woken up ; he was usually the first one awake, flipping pancakes, burning bacon. Once he had even made Alex homemade applesauce, that he had licked warm straight off John's fingers.

Alex cautiously turned to John, trying not to startle him. What a sight to wake up to, he thought. If only his leg wasn't resting against his full bladder. Alexander sighed quietly, watching as his breath made the curls framing John's cheeks flutter and his nose scrunch up with the tingle. Alex smiled. He didn't even try to resist, rubbing his nose against John's, his eyes ever so close to the sprinkle of freckles peppering the bridge of his boyfriend's nose. John's eyes slowly opened, gaze focused on Alex's. It always thrilled him to wonder how many people had gotten to see John's eyes as their last ever sight, and how it was the first thing he himself saw in the morning.

« Good morning, gorgeous, » John mumbled.

« Morning, » Alex answered brightly, with a kiss on John's lips, although given their position it landed a bit too close to his nose. « If you let me go to the bathroom right now, I can make muffins to bring to work. »

John almost launched himself off the bed in his haste, « I fucking love your muffins. Can you make them with rainbow sprinkles ? I'm closing a contract today. »

« Hmm. Today the end of the Johnson deal ? How about extra chocolate chips then? » Alex made his way to the bathroom with rushed steps, holding his pajama pants up with one hand. They were obviously John's, as the legs were about 4 inches too long for him.

« Awesome. I will text you when I'm done, » John said with a nod, although Alex couldn't see him anymore.

« Does it mean I am topping tonight ? » a hopeful Alexander asked.

John loudly whooped, making sure his Ruger was still in the drawer of his nightstand, next to the almost empty bottle of lube.

 

Benjamin Tallmadge liked to fit in a run before the sun was up. He didn't think there were any sights prettier than the pink sky reflecting in the glimmering Hudson. And if the pink wasn't pink enough, who cared? That was what Instagram filters were for, wasn't it? He let the change fall into the tip jar as the Starbucks waitress – Penelope, from her name tag – handed him his scalding hot soy white mocha chai latte (two shots of espresso). His phone chimed as he made his way up the stairs to his appartment, smiling to himself. The stocks for Samsung were dropping drastically, as he'd been sure a month ago when the CEO's drunken assistant had told him about the guy's Thai escapade. Nothing remotely moral nor legal, a scandal America would delight in. He sent Theodosia a kissy face emoji, He would have to buy the girl dinner. As sson as the $75,000 got on his offshore account from the shareholder that had approached him for _advice_ five weeks ago. He had told the guy to hurry up and sell all his bonds and stocks at a price, making him a rich(er) man ; bonds and stocks that were now worth even less than Benjamin's designer skinny jeans he had found in a delightful thrift shop in Williamsburg. He snapped a pic of his latte, making sure you could distinctly see the Hudson from his balcony, alight with a blazing rising sun.

 

Theodosia Prevost made sure all her long dreads were safely tucked into a ponytail. She was very happy to make breakfast for Aaron, especially as she knew he had had less than five hours of sleep after going out with Mulligan last night, sharing tales of the various compromising situations they had found John and Alex going to various lengths to scar them ; that being said, raw eggs were a nightmare to get out of hair. She let the beaten eggs fall into the pan, adding mushrooms and cream. Aaron probably didn't even have a hangover, he didn't drink, but he'd had to bring Hercules back to his place, run an errand for Washington, and had only got to bed around 3 am. The man himself entered the kitchen, almost sleepwalking given his closed eyes ; he made his way to her, bumping into the furniture only twice, kissed her cheek, let his head rest in the crook of her neck. They stood like that for a minute, the scrambled eggs sizzling on the stove. Aaron finally moved away, dropping four oranges in the juicer, his eyes drifting to Theodosia's phone on the counter, slow cello notes filling the domestic air between them from her morning Spotify playlist. 

« You have a message, love, » he noted, grabbing two tall glasses from the cupboard.

« It's Benjamin, » she answered with a frown, scraping the slightly burnt gooey eggs from the bottom of the pan. « I sent the Samsung article yesterday and the CEO was taken in for questioning last night. »

Aaron sighed, taking a sip of his orange juice ; like an afterthought, he added a few drops of lemon juice. « I can't believe your job is to provoke outrage. One day, something will happen. »

« And I can't believe your job is to make people like you and your clients, » she quipped as she set the plates on the table and grabbed ketchup from the fridge. « And how could anything happen ? We are as protected as it gets. Now eat your protein, Mr Big Shot Lawyer Man. »

He sighed as he shook his head, grinning wide, a genuine flash of bright teeth. There was no way he was telling Alexander how much his own wife trusted their organization. He would never hear the end of it.

 

Most of George Washington's employees would tell you their boss probably never slept. No, he just rested his eyes, senses alert, ready to pounce like a giant cat or maybe a majestic eagle ? Alexander Hamilton would probably have said a Komodo dragon but that was because he was a nerd. In any case, they all were wrong, because George Washington was currently burrowed under his covers, trying really hard to fight the sunlight that was coming in through the half-closed blinds. It was stupid, he knew, being too tired to actually close his bulletproof blinds was madness and a threat to his own safety, but he had had to spend way more time on the phone than he was comfortable with last night : one of his dealers had been stopped by the cops, Mulligan couldn't take care of it because Washington had given him the night off, he'd had to look into the profiles himself to know if the kid could be trusted, and had finally called Burr so he could pay bail and get the kid home. Apparently it had all worked out well, the officer on duty had been Franklin so he'd only had to spring for a bit more to make sure no traces of the incident would remain on record. Meanwhile, he had heard that the buyer for his recently purchased West 21 st Street appartment had pulled out, so the asset would stay on the market a bit more than he'd planned ; he would have to talk to Hamilton about that, maybe try to get Tallmadge to spread the word that he was selling at a discount price on Greenwich Village. (Of course, he wasn't losing money on it. He had just bought the property at a ridiculously cheap price with some help from Maria. The things people will do when you tell them that you have embarassingly explicit nudes of them with another woman in that same appartment ready to be sent to their wife as well as the church they are part of and that gives generous donations to their campaign fund.) He let out a frustrated sigh as he pushed the covers off his upper body, accepting defeat. He could fight against the police, the system, morals, but he couldn't fight the sun. He'd have to tell Laurens that : at least he would get a pep talk and a laugh out of it.

 

 

George opened the door of the strip club like he owned the place. Which, he did. He'd understood early enough that an industry where most, if not all, transactions are cash-based was the best way to inject money back into the system and have it come out cleaner than ever. The profit was substantial enough that he could pay the performers fairly, especially when he didn't pay much for the alcohol supply. The IRS had never suspected a thing : the paper trails were spotless, the invoices never inflated beyond reason, and how could anyone determine how much a strip club  _actually_ made in a week ? Buying «  _Sons and Daughters of Liberty_  » had been his best bet so far.

He sat on one of the stools, letting his suit jacket casually part on his thighs. The lights were dim, two girls were on stage while men lewdly made their approval known from the tables around the edge of the stage; the air already smelled of alcohol and hormones and it wasn't even 10pm yet. A glass filled with amber liquid to the third. He smiled.

« Thanks, Peggy. You know me well. »

« That bottle is only for you, boss. I'd feel shitty serving a $13k cognac bottle to the average Joe, » quipped Peggy, long curly hair tied in a side ponytail, showing a fresh tattoo on her right shoulder.

« New one ? » George asked, pointing it faintly with a finger, the rest of his hand wrapped around the glass that he was rising to his lips.

« It's an orchid, » she indicated. « Hercules took me for my birthday, last week. Which you didn't attend. »

« I can't believe I am getting bossed around by a 22 year old kid, » he moaned with a smirk.

« It is secretly what you need, George Washington, » she said as she made her way around the counter to the customers who were trying to get her attention, patting his back lightly.

« Look who's whipped, » a happy voice called as the person it belonged to sat down on the stool next to George's. John Laurens looked happy and sated, and his arms wrapped around Alexander as the man sat on his lap, climbing awkwardly after having set up two bottles of beer on the counter. 

« Good evening, John, » Washington greeted. « Didn't see you at work today, and our Alexander had baked muffins. I trust the Johnson deal went alright ? »

« I'm still here, aren't I ? » John smirked, kissing Alex's cheek as the man handed him one of the beers.

« Honey, you have some paint here, » Alex complained, rubbing at John's eyebrow. They all knew it wasn't red paint. They all knew the only thing that made John that relaxed and dopily smiling was a well-carried out assassination contract. The grooming session quickly turned into a full-blown make-out session.

« Is there no way we can escape this Hell ? » asked Hercules, who had apparently just come in, reaching for Alex's full bottle and taking a swig. He made a face, waving at Eliza across the bar. « Babe, will you get me some Guiness, not the watery shite Hamilton is drinking ? »

« Call me babe again and I will take you out myself, » Eliza threatened, pouring some black stout from the tap. « How are you guys ? Are you holding up without Angelica knocking some sense into you ? »

« She has only be gone for a day. Thanks, Liza, » Hercules said as he took the sweating glass in his hand. He turned to George, his mouth tight. « I'm sorry about the mishap yesterday, boss. You should have called. The kid had been warned not to go beyond 149 th with the Yankees game. We had told him there would be more cops patrolling. »

« You deserved a night off, Mulligan. God knows I have my hands full with those two lovesick idiots as well. » George nodded at John and Alex, although he wasn't sure where one finished and the other one started. 

Alex yelped. « Your Excellency, if you want your hands full, I am more ready to... » His offer was muted by John's grunt as he took back his mouth. George chuckled, before offering Hercules a second round, on him. He didn't like to take advantage of his owner priviledges too much.

 

George turned slowly on the stool, using the bar to rest his elbows, Benjamin had come in, Caleb in tow, and challenged John and Hercules to a game of caps, supervised by Peggy and Alexander. This was it, the original gang ; the choice of word made him snort a little. He hated the word gang. No, he liked the term  _syndicate_ . Peggy had howled with laughter when the Assassin's Creed game had come out. 

His eyes wandered over the patrons and the dancing stages. Most were sober, some were tipsy ; nothing close to dangerous, it was a Wednesday night and most people still had jobs to go to for the next two days, He hoped the girls had made some good cash on the side ; he was pretty proud of Eliza's hiring process and knew that a dancer who made a profit was happier to come to work, dancing better, making more people come in, drinking his booze and, occasionally, getting some magic powder on the side, making him more money, rinse and repeat. 

This one he'd never seen, though.  _Liberty_ was certainly not a girls-only club ; and he'd long ago understood that he needed to cash in on the Kinsley scale. The man sliding now on the pole was not like any he'd ever seen there, though. His slender body looked like it barely needed the pole to stay floating in mid-air, yet the abs that contracted when he pulled up his legs to grip the pole between his knees and ankles betrayed a surprising force. The man's eyes met his. He had to hide a shiver.

« That's Lafayette, » a soft voice said behind him. Eliza was drinking from a water bottle, her gaze on George, eyes sharp.

« New arrival ? » he asked, placing the cup full of peanuts between them. She smiled gratefully as she took a handful.

« Yeah, hired him on Tuesday. He has the most delightful French accent when he wants to, you should hear him. Definitely enough to make half the guys here spring for a private show. »

He frowned. « He is doing the rooms already? He seems comfortable enough. You know I like it when you tell me you have a new dancer, though, Schuyler. »

It was her turn to shiver. She didn't like it when he called her by her last name. It made her feel small and reminded her exactly of who she was working for. She bowed her head a bit. « I know, boss. I am sorry, I thought I knew what you expected of the employees by now. I was very thorough with the preliminary research, Angie helped. »

He sighed. « It's okay, Eliza. I know you meant well. Just, don't. »

She nodded. « Can I make it up to you, boss ? »

 

Apparently, she could, he thought as he sat down on the couch of one of the private rooms. Actually, he decided when Lafayette entered the room a minute later, she was entirely forgiven and he might give her a huge tip tonight. Lafayette's bare feet made no noise on the carpet ; George could see a thousand of them both in the reflecting mirrors, a thousand different versions of themselves where George could ask him out for dinner, where Lafayette didn't work for him, where he didn't have to worry about the next shipment of coke being intercepted. Lafayette grinned at him with a wink, and George made up his mind, this was the reality he liked best, the one where Lafayette was looking at him with interest as he bent by the stereo in the corner.

« Eliza tells me you are the boss ? » he asked without preamble. His confidence and winning smile was like fire, tainting his cheeks red and setting his body aflame. George could only nod. « I am Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, please call me Lafayette, alright ? Although I won't mind if you call me Gilbert. »

« Gilbert, » Washington muttered. What was he doing ? He'd had kids twice as bold in his bed, some of them begging for his cock with drooling mouths and pleading eyes, and he had suddenly lost his words. « I am George, » he said helpfully. The music started playing, some French tune he didn't recognize, nor did he care very much. 

Lafayette approached him with slow steps, moving his hips like he was testing the music, a slight roll in his hips that made George want to roll his while pinning the boy down ; but he was not a fucking animal, and so he stayed still. Lafayette put a leg on each side of his thighs, sitting facing him on his lap. « Nice to meet you, George. You look like you need someone to take care of you, » he breathed in his ear. Lafayette smelled of lavender and mint and his mind lost itself in it, in a way he had been chasing for a long time, in a thrill no illicit activity could ever bring him.

The dance didn't last very long, maybe ten minutes, but hell if George could recall any of the actual moves. He could, however, perfectly remember the way Lafayette's neck seemed a perfect line to sink his teeth into when he threw his head back ; how the hair that was tied up in a high puffy ponytail at first had come undone in a halo of tight curls that had tinkled his chest after Lafayette had opened his shirt ; how he had caught a glimpse of pink tongue when Lafayette had tutted at George's feeble attempt to put his hands on his hips, which was stupid, honestly, no touching allowed and he had been the one to write down this rule at the club.

« Can I offer you a drink ? » George offered as Lafayette put his tank top back on.

« Not during work, boss, » Lafayette declined with a smile, making sure no dollar bill had been slipping in an uncomfortable place in his boxers. George had been generous.

« Of course not, son, » George frowned. « I was not trying to trick you. I meant after. Or tomorrow. Brunch, maybe ? » When had George ever been the type of guy to have brunch ? Never, that's when. Honestly, the sooner he got home and rubbed one out to the memory of soft skin on his, the better.

Lafayette seemed to consider. « I am not sure it's incredibly appropriate, George. »

Washington nodded, making his way to the door. Lafayette's body tensed in his direction, like he wanted to talk to him and his words had trouble coming out. « Thank you for the dance, Gilbert, » George said softly. « I am glad Eliza hired you. Come to any of us for any problem, okay ? »

Lafayette nodded, biting on his lip. He let a hand rest on George's forearm ; it was the first time they touched so directly and it felt way more intimate than anything sinful Lafayette had just been doing. « There was a guy on table 3, » he whispered. « He hasn't stopped looking at you since you came in with your friends. He doesn't seem friendly. » He gripped a bit tighter. « I am pretty sure he has a gun. »

 

« Time to call it a night, kids, » Washington called as he walked to the bar. Table 3 was empty of its previous occupants, replaced by a group of five bachelorettes loudly giggling. He leant so that he was close to John's ear, deliberately trying to ignore Alexander's hand in Laurens' pants. « We may have someone tailing us. I suggest we avoid the main exit. »

« The backdoor is all I am about, boss, » Laurens said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. « All right, baby girl, time to make good on that promise, » he pulled Alexander to his feet, who patted his ass affectionately. 

The change in their attitudes was obvious. John, walking ahead, was walking with his arm around his boyfriend's waist, one of his hands already sneaking behind his jacket to lay a hand on the gun there. Washington was flanked by Tallmadge and Brewster on each side, Hercules bringing up the rear. They opened the metal door, making it creak probably way more than was necessary. They barely had time to get out before they saw the cold glint of a gun in their faces.

« Drop all weapons and put your hands up, » a shaky voice said.

« Son, there are six of us and one of you, » George said with a shake of his head.

« I am pretty sure I could break his arm by hugging him, the kid is scrawny, » Hercules added.

« This is stupid, how do you not bring back-up when you know you have the whole frontmen of the Continental Army looking ready to be picked up like cherries ? » Alex wondered.

« Detective Frederick said... » the man's voice stopped when John aimed his gun at his chest in one fluid motion and pulled the trigger. A red flower bloomed on the pavement.

« I can't fucking stand George Frederick, » John announced. « Dude's been on our ass for what, two years, now ? Can't send anyone better than Good Guy Steve here ? »

Washington opened his mouth, only to be cut off by the sound of Hercules retching in the background. The guy hated blood with a passion. Was desperately torn between wanting to give his blood and fainting at the sight of it. Tallmadge patted Hercules' back, discreetly trying to get his Keds out of the way of the vomit flow.

« If you don't mind, » a voice said from the still-opened door. They all turned to face the building. Lafayette was leaning there, not looking shocked in the slightest. « It occured to me that I declined a drink because it wasn't appropriate, but then I thought, when the fuck have I ever been appropriate ? »

« We could get a car to my place, » suggested George. 

Lafayette nodded, making his way down the two stairs, making sure not to step in the splatters of blood and vomit. He took George's arm and grinned at him like the sun was shining out of his ass. « I am a sucker for a good cognac, » he said, and it was all George could do not to sweep him off his feet and run all the way to his appartment. 

He barely heard Laurens' moan of « does that mean I have to clean it all now ? »


	2. The Part where He Kills You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington gets Lafayette home. This is reckless and he knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello !  
> Thank you for sticking around. I love you all so much.  
> This chapter is smutty. I hope it's okay. There is a bit of plot.  
> I dedicate this chapter to Kai. Happy birthday, you disgusting sinner.  
> Enjoy !

It was not the first time George took a guy home.It was, however, the first time he didn't ask John to dispose of a witness on the spot : far less troublesome than bribing, and, honestly, it saved money. He wasn't sure why that was, or maybe he exactly did, and the novelty of it made his head swim with wonder and maybe the slightest bit of dread. He supposed nothing stopped him from getting his dick wet then killing the kid. This one wouldn't be a first. You didn't go into George Washington's appartment and live to tell the tale. He had paid a hell of a lot for his mahogany flooring, though ; it would be a fucking pain to scrub blood out of it. Did he still have the cyanide bottle Eliza had gotten him for his birthday ? She knew how fond he was of Agatha Christie – probably because she remembered him babysitting Peggy and reading her _And Then There Were None_ – not the best story for bedtime for a seven year old, in hindsight. 

He was so lost in thought he barely registered the car had stopped. They still had a few blocks to walk, there was no way he would get the taxi to stop right in front of his building. Lafayette had been mostly silent, smiling softly at the city, buzzing with life, even then at 2am, friends going home from bars, couples groping at each other for a few hours more or maybe a lifetime, who knew, one woman jogging while walking her dog, warm streetlamps and red neons reflecting in multicolored hues on her glowing brown skin. Lafayette hummed sometimes, when the radio caught his ear. It was like a shitty romantic comedy, except the love interest choked on his own breath and fluids before it even got to a point where love could develop. 

Lafayette got out of the car first and threw a few bills at the driver – far more than the asked price. George frowned as the boy circled the car and opened the door for him with a giddy smile. Now, George had seen his fair share of dancers in his club, and none had ever seemed that happy giving away probably the triple of what the cab fare was, nor had they tried to get home with him, especially not, he guessed, if they were to see Laurens do his job with enthusiasm. He cursed at himself silently as he got out of the car, thanking the driver politely while Lafayette took his arm and let himself be led along the street. Honestly, damn him and his dick and the long sleepless nights worrying about his family of misfits and for fuck's sake, Alex already called him his old man nine times out of ten, when had he let himself go, damn Lafayette's tight ass and his endless legs on either side of him while he was grinding against him, damn his hot breath and mouthed French words on his bare chest, damn the phantom feeling of his fingers gripping his forearms for leverage. And, more importantly, damn the stupid hunger in his heart, pumping in his veins in hot flows of desire.

One minute they were walking on the sidewalk, the next George had pulled Lafayette aside and slammed him against the wall. It was one of those dark side alleys, the ones where you expected to see Bruce Wayne's parents getting shot or at the very least a dealer waiting for their customers. Lafayette had nothing to fear, though, because George Washington was probably the most dangerous person there.

« Who the fuck are you ? » George asked through gritted teeth, his strong hands gripping the collar of Lafayette's trenchcoat. The dim light filtering from the lit window, a few stories above, was enough for him to see the kid's pupils were blown. Since he had a strict no-drugs policy for his employees, he pretty astutely guessed that the source of the excitement was straining against the zipper of the tight jeans.

« I thought I told you to call me Lafayette ? » His breathing was a bit needier, a bit higher. « Is this where you want to do that ? Because this is probably the hottest shit that's happened to me since I got in America. » He hitched his right leg up, hooking it on George's hip, pulling him closer, and George knew Lafayette was flexible, but doing so in skinny jean had to be painful for his crotch and he had half a mind to relieve him. Guys helping guys.

« Who do you fucking work for ? » George tried to push him roughly against the wall, but their bodies were working as one and he had to take a step forward as well, slamming into Lafayette whose moan couldn't be misinterpreted for pain.

« I work for you, George, » and his voice was barely there, a raw whisper in Washington's ear and straight to his core. Lafayette's fingers, slim and elegant, had made their way to George's arms, once again, like they had in that room a few hours before, like they had always belonged there, and already George could feel his own fingers clutching harder at his coat, his mouth a tight line, his brain a stupid blur. « Do you not trust Eliza ? » whispered Lafayette.

Of course he did. Of course. He had been the one to give Eliza full power over the club. It was stupid, he knew it was, they would never let an informer in, Alex had probably provided the background check, Tallmadge would have heard something from the Culper boys down at the NSA, nothing was ever let to chance in their line of work. Still. You didn't get this far on trust alone. « I'm going to search you now, » he informed Lafayette.

The kid grinned, shark-like, gorgeous. « I believe I have what you look for, George. » 

George could try to not make it look like he was fondling Lafayette, but it would be lying. He let his hands fall from his trenchcoat lapels, but judging by Lafayette's leg still firmly pinning George in place, he was not about to run away. His hands pressed against the fabric, all over Lafayette's chest, while still thinking it was all pretty ridiculous since Lafayette's clothes were thin enough that he couldn't even try to hide a credit card without it showing ; Lafayette looked absolutely delighted at the process, nipping at his lower lip, his eyes following the movement of George's hands. He found, however, a mobile phone, that he took great pleasure in crushing under his heel, eliciting a surprised yelp. « Someone important to call ? » asked George while he browsed through the different cards in the black leather wallet – Mont Blanc, if he wasn't mistaken, and he knew he wasn't.

« My best friend likes to know where I am, » Lafayette muttered. 

George stopped and let the wallet, free of suspicion, fall back into the left pocket of the coat. He didn't really know what to make of this information. He'd killed people who mentioned their families before. I have a mom, a child, a wife, someone even mentioned their cousin they wanted to marry once. But a best friend ? That one was unheard of. Not the first thing someone would think about. 

Lafayette's leg had started to fall a bit, and George found himself hooking his left hand under his bent knee to keep it there. Lafayette's surprised smile when he did was worth it. His hand slid, just the slightest bit, on the underside of the firm thigh. His other hand snaked around Lafayette's waist, into his jean's back left pocket, then the right ; it was all for show, of course. He let his hand rest on the tight ass, not even moving, possessive, a steady weight. 

« There is one place you haven't searched yet, » Lafayette purred against his ear, taking a hold of George's right hand and sliding it beneath skin and denim ; there was a definite lack of underwear there, and George suddenly found that dark alley pretty uncomfortable. So he took Lafayette by the hand and power-walked to his appartment.

 

« I can't believe you talked Caleb into cleaning, » Alex marveled as he parked the car in their building's underground garage. 

« Babe, » John moaned, « have you  _seen_ the damage ? I was guaranteed to forget something. Caleb is a fucking pro, he already called Paul to arrange for pick-up. And if people wonder about water there from when they hose the mess down, Peggy will just have to point at Hercules' vomit and say she cleaned after a drunk patron. »

« If she can point to the vomit, then she hasn't cleaned very well, » Alex pointed as John led him up the stairs by the hand, taking the steps two at a time.

« Have you seen Peggy's place ? She will just have to bring them there and they will understand, » shrugged John, locking the door behind them and shedding his jacket. He thought he saw Alex open his mouth to say something, like he was prone to do at any given time : so he took off his shirt in a swift motion, throwing it over the couch where it would probably be forgotten for the next two months, and jumped in the arms of his boyfriend who certainly was not ready to carry a John-full of lean muscle without a warning. John's tongue tasted of beer and the acrid stench of gunpowder his fingers always smelled like ; Alex tasted of pineapple juice and chocolate chips. John walked backwards to the bedroom, fumbling with Alexander's belt as he went, Alex's hands in his curls, untying his ponytail, touching his face, reverently, his mouth still on his, biting hard at his lip, drawing the sting of blood.

« One day, you won't come back, » Alex muttered in John's mouth, and it didn't feel like an omen as much as it felt like a plea to prove him wrong.

« And leave you ? Who will make sure you eat and actually get your head out of all those books and schemes ? That's more than enough reason to stay. » With that, John dropped to his knees, getting Alex's already semi-hard cock out of his underwear and popping it into his mouth with no preamble. Alex hissed, cupping John's head with a steady hand, letting his fingers tangle in the smooth curls. He pulled out, grip tightening in his hair just the slightest bit, John pliant, a blissful smile on his lips. « Go slowly, love, » Alex advised, his free hand squeezing John's jaw until it opened in a perfect stretched-out O in which Alex slid the head of his cock, John sucking hard with hollowed cheeks and teasing flicks of the tongue. Alexander did his best to allow John to only work his way up his shaft slowly, thoroughly, not a single inch of burning-hot flesh spared from his ministrations.

John pulled out by himself, whispering, hot breath on Alex's spit-slick dick, « Let me worship you, » and Alex knew he was, in the end, powerless, and would likely meet his end at the hands – or mouth – of one John Laurens.

 

Lafayette didn't even have the time to take in the appartment that George had already almost ripped his trenchcoat off his shoulders. Usually, Gilbert would have frowned at the way his Burberry was handled, but right then, the only thing he cared about was how he was about to be handled himself. For the short while he'd been working at the  _Liberty_ , there had been a fair share of girls and boys who wanted to bring him back home or get a quickie. He'd always been adamant about the rules. But when Eliza had shown him the boss... Now, Gilbert knew he had a problem. He liked powerful men. It was something he'd come to terms with. That didn't mean he was some pretty thing to show around, though. He knew very well what he was worth, what he wanted and didn't want. What he wanted was currently sinking his teeth in the soft flesh of his shoulder while unbuttoning his shirt.

Gilbert let out a loud groan, from deep within his body. When he'd walked into the room and George had been sitting here, all hard lines and confident stance, it'd be hard not to think of the way his friends at the bar had been standing around him, Eliza's scolded-child look when they had been talking when he knew the woman didn't take shit from anybody. He'd wanted George from the moment he'd seen him. 

His hands were mapping George's chest, undoing his light blue button-down ; it felt familiar, when he'd only touched it for the first and last time a few hours ago. The skin was warm and responded beautifully when he lightly dug his fingernails in and let them trail from shoulder to nipple. The shudder that ran through George made his gut clench with desire and anticipation. The shirt fell to the floor. « Is that okay ? » Lafayette asked, his French accent getting thicker. George pushed him against the bedroom door.

« Just fucking mark me, » Washington growled, hauling Gilbert up, both hands on his ass ; the Frenchman immediately hooked his legs around George's waist, his dick rubbing roughly against the denim, and the friction was both too much and too little when their bodies pressed together. Finally, fucking finally, George took Lafayette's mouth. He did it like he did everything : precisely, completely, taking him apart, moan by moan, commanding tongue chasing his, claiming him and all his senses, the feel of the skin of his back giving way under Lafayette's blunt nails, the lavender and cedar scent of his perfume, Dolce & Gabbana probably, the dizzying taste of good cognac, and, most importantly, the  _sounds_ . Sinful moans, wet slide of tongue against lips, groans when a lip was caught between hungry teeth, and, when Lafayette was able to tear his hands away from George's skin, the jingle of a belt getting ridden of.

Gilbert felt his back detach from the door where the sweat had made him stick. George was just fucking carrying him, pushing the door open with his foot, his pants riding low on his hips now the belt was open. The bedroom was beautiful, in tasteful dark shades of blue and brown, but he didn't have much time to see it as George set him down on the bed, shimmying out of his own pants inelegantly while he helped Gilbert out of his jeans. He was not even out of the second leg that Washington had turned him over so he laid on his forearms and knees and bent to viciously bite at his left buttock, eliciting a yelp ; if he didn't know he was into that, he knew now. He felt two broad hands spread him open and only had a millisecond to feel excited in advance before George licked a broad stripe over his hole with the flat of his tongue. He let out a scream.

« Shut the fuck up, » Washington ordered.

« How much do you want the neighbours to hate you ? » Lafayette teased, turning around to flash a shaky smile at George. It only earned him a hard slap on the ass.

« The walls are soundproof, » George said, and Lafayette could literally feel his smile where he blew hot on his sensitive. « I just want to see if you can behave. »

Gilbert did his best to be good, and George made it his mission to make sure he wasn't. By the time he was finished, Gilbert was a quivering mess, tears budding in his unfocused eyes. His untouched cock was leaking precum at the tip, and Washington let his right hand wander down Lafayette's stomach, coating the sticky fluid up and down the rock-hard erection, making Lafayette whimper. « Will you ? » George asked, presenting him his wet fingers ; Gilbert didn't hesitate a second, popping them in his mouth, tasting himself, making sure the three digits were dripping wet. « Good boy, » George muttered, and his voice showed that he was far from being unaffected by the sight. He used his left hand to get rid of his underwear, pressing a sucking kiss to Gilbert's hole, who let out a sigh, rocking slightly against him. He had no problem sliding a finger in, Lafayette being relaxed as could be, almost liquid, putty in his hand. The second finger took some accomodating. 

« Please get the lube in the second drawer of the nightstand, » George whispered, covering Lafayette's body with his, talking low in his ear, chuckling when Gilbert almost launched himself off the bed in his haste. By the time he'd stretched out enough to grab a condom and lube, George was licking around his fingers, still in Lafayette's ass. Gilbert thought it was a sight he would never, ever, tire of, twisting his back to catch a glimpse of George's twinkling eyes catching his. 

With the help of lube, it was easier ; a third finger in, Lafayette reduced to a writhing mess, bucking his hips up chasing friction, his fists clenching the sheets everytime the fingers hit his prostate. George honestly thought he could come fromthe sight alone. But when Gilbert handed him the condom, fever in his eyes and a trickle of sweat on his brow, he willed his blood to slow down. He positioned himself behind Lafayette but he was stopped.

« No, » Lafayette panted. « I want to see you. » He got on his back, legs beautifully spread, and George felt a pang in his heart. Killing that man ? That would be like spray-painting a dick on the stomach of the Winged Victory of Samothrace. A desecration. Before he had time to think much more of it, Lafayette cupped his head in his hands and kissed him, freeing one of his hands to line George's cock with his entrance and push on his hips. Every inch he got into Lafayette, George thought his body wouldn't be able to take in the heat and tightness, but each of his groans met a responding moan in the closed space between their mouths. When they started rocking together, a bit frenetic at first, like teenagers rutting against each other, Gilbert's nails once again dug into his biceps and he had to slow down – only in porn do you see people have sex for hours like rabbits without shooting their load in seconds. The movements became more intimate, their pants like a melody they had always known by heart somehow, and George realized he'd kept his eyes open, which was unusual, and more importantly, so had Gilbert ; he let his hand run through the tight curls in wonder. He could read no fear there, no dread, nothing he was used to seeing in all who'd seen him conducting business. 

His stomach was sticky with Gilbert's leaking neglected cock ; he got his hand down, stroking him in rhythm with their thrusts. He could see when Lafayette's orgasm approached : the adorable way his nose scrunched up, his mouth seeking him to let him swallow his cries, then the hot, sticky mess on his hand, throwing him over the edge as well. His orgasm felt better than it had in a long time. Probably because it felt shared.

A few minutes later, when George had put back on his underwear and laid a protective hand around Lafayette's shoulder, huddled against him, still naked as the day he was born, he was faced with real life again.

« Is this the part where you kill me ? » Gilbert asked, quietly, like he asked what he wanted for dinner. 

The question surprised him, honestly. George had to pause and think for a minute. « If there was a tracking chip in your ass, I dare think I destroyed it. »

« Total annihilation, » teased Gilbert. « I am damn good at keeping my mouth shut. »

« I saw that, » smirked George. And then, more quietly : « I destroyed your phone. »

Lafayette stretched like a contented cat. « You'll get me another one, boss. Now, how about that cognac before round two ? »

 

 

At Interpol's USA headquarters, the atmosphere was tense.

« Simons hasn't reported back yet, sir, » a tired-looking agent said. His tag said Detective Frederick ; his eyes said « Get me coffee stat ».

« This whole situation is a fucking mess, Frederick, » an older looking man in a uniform sighed.  «Simons said he had a lead. I don't get why you told him to go for it, George. You know he should have waited for back-up. »

« I am sorry, Inspector Clinton. I thought it best to act quickly. »

« Next time, don't think, George. Ask. » Clinton shook his head. « Lyon is sending us a new guy for the Continental Army investigation. Should be here any minute. »

Sure enough, the door opened to let in a young, bright-eyed man. His suit wasn't rumpled, there was no coffee stain on his tie. 

« There he is. Our British savior. Detective George Frederick, meet Detective John André. »

The two men shook hands. 

« Now, » André started, « from what I hear you have been the lead detective on the case, yes ? What have you learned so far ? » There was a silence. There hadn't been much to learn. André frowned. « Come on. They have to have a weakness. »

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM EXHAUSTED  
> I hope you liked it !! Please tell me if you did ! I am on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight and I already love you!  
> Extra kudos if you know where the title of the chapter comes from.


	3. Don't call me Wash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington doesn't want to be seen as weak. He likes Lafayette, is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello !  
> Wow. I did take my sweet time between updates. I am sorry.  
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, singoeshere. I went to her place for a few days. It took me a long time to recover. Hence the delay. (That's not true. I am lazy and she is the most wonderful person I know.)  
> I hope you'll like it !

Lafayette woke up lazily, stretching on the sheets, enjoying the way the light filtering through the blinds striped his skin with warm gold. He was alone in the bed, surprisingly narrow despite the size of the room ; if he had this kind of space, he probably would have bought a king-size bed. No, scratch that : a round bed. Like the ones you saw in those ridiculous documentaries about Las Vegas. Where everything looked tacky and opulent and obscene. He smiled at himself. Adrienne often told him how ridiculous he was. Living France, living the promising life his family had carefully crafted for him for centuries, for the promised land and all the uncertainty it came with. She had pleaded with him, all the way to the airport, half-heartedly, tears of laughter in her dark blue eyes, gripping hands on his arms, never letting his heart go, always letting him fly away as he saw fit. He was like a kite in her hands. He loved her too much to be in love with her.

That being said, he was pretty sure getting in bed with his boss who apparently had henchmen ready to kill for him and was obviously involved in some pretty shady business was motive enough for her to swim across the Atlantic ocean in record time, eat your heart out Michael Phelps, and bring him back to France by the scruff of his neck. So that he wasn’t telling her.

He could hear, faintly, the sound of a shower running, the quiet shuffling of the water as the body under it moved. He smiled, feeling the telltale burn in his thighs and ass, reveling in it for a minute, letting his eyes take in his surroundings in the morning. The room smelled heavy with sex and sweat, the blue sheets crumpled underneath him, a pattern repeated on his arms and back. Dark brown furniture, little decoration. A blue candle, half burnt, on the dresser, those big ones from Yankee Candle : he squinted to read, _November Rain_ , and it was somehow perfect. The old fashioned alarm clock on the night stand read 08:43 in blocky digital red numbers, a frame leaning against it. He could make out the silhouette, familiar already, of Eliza, her arms around one of the guys George had been with – the short one, the one that the gun-toting guy was so protective around. They were younger, not much, but you could tell Eliza was a bit softer around the edges, and the guy’s dark circles weren’t as obvious ; a third girl was in the picture as well, darker skin and bright smile, holding Eliza close ; he thought it might be the third Schuyler sister, the one he had heard so much about but never had the honor of meeting yet.

The shower stopped, followed by the ruffling of a towel and the sound of bare feet on the wooden floors. A low voice humming as the first few notes of a Duke Ellington song bounced around. It felt good. Domestic, even. It was stupid and foolish, but he had always been one to shoot for the stars. Might as well make the best of it while it lasted. He grabbed George’s boxers where they lay at the foot of the bed, putting them on, and made his way to the kitchen.

 

The kitchen was not what he expected. He hadn't been expecting the homey feeling, the wooden countertops, the quaint booth with the solid table covered by a stained, plaid tablecloth. He had half-expected a clinical unit, easy to rinse blood off of, very practical, not actually looking like someone lived there. He hadn't been expecting the myriad of post-its all over the fridge and tiles by the blender – hell, he had never expected a blender either. « Call Martha about the dogs », « Remind Peggy of dentist appointment », « Ask Hercules to make sure Peggy attends dentist appointment ». There were dirty dishes in the sink, a grocery list that just says « what is kale » on the fridge, held by a ridiculous _Washington DC_ magnet shaped like the White House. He opened the door, a smile on his lips. No kale in sight, but the amount of bacon was frankly stunning. He rummaged around until he found eggs. It should feel strange, Lafayette thought, to be standing here making breakfast for his boss, but it wasn't. It felt intimate, but in a good way. Not an intrusive way. 

He didn't see George, leaning against the doorframe, buttoning up his shirt distractedly. George didn't really know what to say ; it was an unprecedented situation. A hot guy wearing his own boxers cooking him breakfast after a night of mind-blowing sex, reaching out for the pepper flakes like he had always been there. So he just stood there, watching. Thoughts suspended in mid-air for a minute, just enjoying the view and the feeling, alien, that maybe, maybe this could be a regular occurrence, and maybe he wouldn't fuck it up, and maybe Gilbert would be reliable, and maybe he could allow himself to relax when at home.

« What time do you have to be at work ? » Gilbert asked, not even turning around. George smiled at himself, slightly, before making his way over, reaching for the plates in the cupboard above Gilbert, who just turned his cheek to him, obviously expecting a kiss that George was happy to give, albeit a bit dazed.

« I don't really have a schedule, but I try to be there by 9 every morning, » George said. It was one of the perks of being the boss. And also of having competent right-hand men, especially when they slept as little as Alexander ; it made his job infinitely easier. Gilbert placed two eggs, sunny side up, in his plate, with a heaping pile of bacon. « I prefer them scrambled, » George said, more to break the silence than anything.

« I will remember that for next time, » Gilbert grinned, and George was pleased to hear there would be a second time, and a second morning.

 

« It's the first time I meet someone who listens to Poison unironically, » Gilbert remarked when they were in the car. George was driving : he liked the space it gave him before work, like a decompression chamber between home and the gruesome reality of business.

« You are welcome to walk next to the car, you know, » George grumbled.

« We are right in the middle of traffic, » Gilbert said.

« Is that so, » George answered off-handedly. He couldn't even pretend to be in a bad mood when Gilbert's laugh chimed like bells, light and charming, and his hand idly traced swirling shapes on his right thigh. « Are you working tonight ? » he asked.

Lafayette nodded. « Seven to two, » he added. « Unless my schedule changed, which I wouldn't know, because someone destroyed my phone last night. »

« You are awfully mouthy, » George complained. Gilbert looked about to tell him just how he could put his mouth to good use when George continued, « Alexander left a new one at your appartment. I had him check the place this morning. »

« This is an invasion of privacy, » Gilbert cheerfully said.

« Do you want to take it to a judge ? » George's grin was getting bigger, turning his face slightly towards Lafayette, who shrugged.

« Do you do that to every guy you fuck through the mattress, or am I special ? » Gilbert's eyes were shining, and George knew he was utterly fucked himself. He was saved the trouble of answering when he saw Alexander wave at him from the sidewalk.

« Shut the fuck up and get off, » he groaned as Lafayette opened his door.

« Not until you give me permission, boss. » Gilbert winked and sauntered away, after leaving two kisses on Alex's kiss, who just stared.

« So is that a thing, now ? » he asked carefully. « Do you... Do you not kill the guys you bring home ? »

George bit back a laugh. « You make it sound like it's a common occurrence, son. I am not the ruthless killer, here. Ask your boyfriend. »

« Are you boyfriends ? » Alex almost bounced in his seat. « You could have said that you were looking so I could prepare myself to having a new mom around. His place is nice, I liked it. Doesn't need money, from the suits in his closet, I mean, I didn't even recognize some of the brands. There was a picture of a woman, though. Young. Pretty. No bugs. Nothing suspicious. No weapons, not even a webcam. I think he is clean, Wash. I left a phone. Your number is in it. I just thought, you know. Here is his number. » He handed George a piece of paper.

George just stared. « Alex, how many coffees did you have ? And don't call me Wash. »

« I don't know, John didn't let me sleep so I started caffeine at 6 and maybe one every half hour ? I reviewed Hercules' report on Angie's deal and cleaned the books for the garbage disposal company. I went past  _Liberty_ and Revere already got everything to the incinerator. Everything is spotless. »

« Slow down, Alex. Where is John ? » George frowned as he slammed the brakes to let a hord of tourists through.

Alex just shrugged. « Sleeping ? You know how he is after he carries out a contract. The adrenaline rush is over, I left him home with some banana bread and  _Hannibal_ . »

George shook his head fondly. This was, really, the most ridiculous organization. It was a wonder they got anything done.

 

 

Tallmadge knocked on the door of George's office. « Hey, boss. Can I come in ? » He was wearing a particularly daring constellation-patterned button up with a fleece hoodie. George wondered what it was with kids these days as he held up a hand, finishing his phone call.

« Thank you, Adams. You know we can't have that. Those subsidies will be much appreciated. It's always a pleasure making business with you. Do send Abigail my love. » He hung up and motioned for Benjamin to come in.

« Is that about the  _Cleaner than Clean_ business, sir ? » Benjamin inquired.

« As if you didn't know already, » George huffed. Having the monopoly on the field was fundamental. He'd blown bigger companies to bits to get there. Garbage disposal wasn't glamorous, but it was practical ; when you were the most affordable, government-funded, city-wide company, it was easier to get away with almost anything. Get a few major politicians in your pocket, a good lawyer to make sure the invoices weren't inflated beyond measure.  _«_ They won't last. I asked Adams to get us more funds for clean-energy use. »

« Clever and eco-friendly, » Benjamin answered. « I approve. » He sat down, uninvited. George sighed. His closest, most loyal men were also giant children. « I need to talk to you about Lee. »

There was a silence while George frowned. Charles Lee, while definitly not on the level of madness that is John Laurens, was one of the best hitmen he had ever worked with. So much so, that he'd stayed in his family of misfits, being Washington's man of choice to close protection deals (a fancy way to say extortion). There was nothing much to be said. The man got the job done.

Tallmadge kept talking, though. « Word on the street is he has been talking about you. Saying your time is up and you are too old for the job now. That you got soft. »

George's eyebrows jump to his forehead for a fraction of a second before getting back into their usual workplace-appropriate frown. « Whose word, Benjamin ? »

Tallmadge just stares. « You always said the less you knew about my sources, the better, boss. Plausible deniability. »

« That's a serious accusation, son. » He doesn't really know what to do. On the one hand, Benjamin has never been wrong. On the other hand, he was the one to give Lee a job when the kid had been kicked out of his house after his mother had found out he was dealing drugs on the side. They went way back. Christ, he had paid himself for his daughter's college tuition. He closed his eyes for a second. « Come back to me with tangible proof, Tallmadge. Not word-of-mouth. Get the Culper kids on it if need be. That'll be all. »

« Boss... » Benjamin tries.

« That'll be all, » Washington repeats, and he looks at him as if to say,  _you don't want me to say it a third time_ . So Tallmadge leaves, and Washington is left to wonder if he really got soft.

 

* * *

From : Unknown number

Working 7pm. Will I get to see you tonight ?

 

To : Unknown number

Who is that ?

 

From : Unknown number

IMG00001.jpg

 

To : G

I can't wait.

* * *

George guessed that there are classier means of identification than a dick pic, but he really wasn't complaining. Sure enough, the number matched the one Alex jotted down on the piece of paper crumpled in his suit pants. He wondered, though. Gilbert had sent him a message about seeing him again – it has to happen, Gilbert works for him, it would be pretty stupid to avoid your own club because you happened to have sex with one of your employees – but George couldn't help thinking.  _You got soft_ , said Benjamin's voice in his ears.  _Look who's whipped_ , quipped John.  _Is this the part where you kill me ?_ asked a very much alive Lafayette, sprawling naked on his bed, decadent and beautiful. 

No, he thought. No, this is not happening again. He shouldn't have gone this far. He should have eliminated the witness. He is not weak.

 

It was 7.45pm and George was sitting on a stool at the  _Liberty._ Peggy had just shaken her head when he had come in, leaning to pour a good measure of cognac in a tumbler. « He is not on until eight, George, » she said, and he didn't even want to know how she knew because Alexander was the biggest gossip he knew. « Angelica should come by around 9pm, her flight was delayed. »

« Yes, Mulligan told me. » He took a sip of his cognac, enjoying how it felt like his body was lighting up in sparks as the liquid made its way. « He will be there soon. I have a feeling he can't stay away from you long, Margarita. »

« Look who is giving sex life advice after getting laid for the first time in months, » said a cheerful Alex as he slammed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. « Pegster, I will have a Blowjob, and don't hold back on the Kahlua this time. »

« This isn't this kind of establishment, » Peggy deadpanned.

« Indeed not, » George added, and Alex looked at him as if to say  _Really ? After that show this morning, really ?_ That's when John came in, in jeans and a shirt that said « shell yeah ! » underneath the drawing of a turtle and holding hands with Hercules, and somehow George instantly felt more protected and happier than he has been since this morning.

That was, of course, the moment Lafayette came on stage for his dance, and you couldn't really tell if you weren't looking for it, but his smile got just that bit more natural when he met George's eyes. He was wearing a nice, fitted suit George wouldn't have minded peeling off of him ; he tried not to smile, not to encourage the flirting, but it was a lost battle already.

It was even more of a lost battle when George realized Gilbert was still wearing his own boxers.

The cheers and whistles were getting on his nerves. He downed the rest of his cognac in one big gulp when a guy actually pulled Gilbert by his the tie to slip a bill in his collar, while Eliza yelled « Hey ! No touching ! » and Gilbert batted the guy's hand away with a playful laugh. He got up abruptly when Gilbert exposed his long neck in a way that showcased brillantly the hickeys on his collarbone.

« Hello, boss, » a voice said behind him. Angelica was eyeing him while Eliza was peppering her face with kisses. (« I want to do that too », said Hercules. « Get your own Schuyler sister, » said Eliza. « Shut the fuck up », said Peggy.)

« Angelica, » George greeted, kissing her knuckles in a way that made her roll her eyes. « How was Colombia ? »

« Hot, » she answered. « I went to the Botero museum. It was awesome. Did you know he donated about 50 works to the museum against drug cartel violence ? »

« How ironic, » smiled Alexander. Angelica just shoved him against the bar with a grin.

« Wasn't he the one to do an Escobar painting ? » Gilbert had just slid on the stool next to George with a smile. George stared. Angelica stared. Eliza stared. Hercules was still staring at Peggy.

« Who are you ? » Angelica's voice felt hesitant.

« The local Botero specialist, apparently, » George explained. « Eliza, please get Lafayette a champagne cocktail, on me. »

« Boss, no alcohol during service, » Eliza scolded, but she was already reaching for the champagne glasses.

« He isn't feeling well, his service is over for tonight, I will accompany him back home, » George tried as Lafayette's hand got to its apparently rightful place on his thigh.

« Can someone just tell me what is going on ? » Angelica asked.

« I take great care of my employees is what's going on, » George answered. « Gilbert is looking a bit pale. I think his legs were wobbly on stage. »

« I have a good idea of why my legs were wobbly, » Lafayette would have said more but George cut him off, « Just drink your champagne, Gil. »

« Gil ? » Angelica almost yelled, while Gilbert just nursed his drink with a blissful smile.

« Oh, for God's sake, » John sighed, his hands busy making Alexander's hair into two braids. « Lafayette here was hired not long ago. He and Wash got it on last night and from the look of it they might as well just go at it tonight. »

« Don't call me Wash, » George said as he got up, Lafayette having downed his drink during John's exposé, « and if you'll excuse me, I have a personal interview to conduct. »

Lafayette dragged him out of the bar in quick, purposeful steps, tugging at his hand.

 

« This is not good for business if he just starts deciding to get the dancers home before their shift ends, » Eliza frowned.

« Well, Dad had to rebuild his life eventually, » Alexander shrugged. « We might as well be happy he is getting some. »

« Does Lafayette know ? About the business? » Angelica sat on the stool George had just vacated, Peggy sliding a Cosmopolitan in her hand.

« He saw John, er, conducting business, » said Hercules. « Yesterday. We were all there. »

« And he is still around to tell the tale ? » Angelica marveled. « God, he must be a good lay. »

« I think it's more about how he didn't go running for the hills, » John explained. They all turned around to face him. « What ? He saw the worst our line of work has to offer and yet he still wanted to get Wash home. He knows the risks. He looks smart enough. It's the first time Wash doesn't have to hide everything right away. »

Alex nodded, making John tug harder at a strand of his hair he was still working on. « The other guys ? He didn't want to run the risk of having them know where he lived and then potentially discovering who he was and ratting him out. At least Lafayette knows where he stands. »

There was a silence, only broken by Angelica muttering, « Well, I'll be damned. »

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are the way to my heart.   
> Did you know it's 37 degrees celsius here in France and I am melting  
> I love you !


	4. A polymath, a pain in the ass, a massive pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Hamilton gets over-excited, shoots off at the mouth. Lee should yield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning to all, or evening, or whenever you are; if it's not a good time, it's still a moment and morning will come, again and again.  
> You are all so patient. It takes me a long time to update, for which I am sorry. Life has a way of getting in the way of creativity.  
> Look at me, babbling away, when all you want to do is read !
> 
> WARNING : This chapter contains violence. Gore, actually.

 

 

“Maybe we should talk,” Lafayette said. George looked up from where he was busy sucking a hickey very high up on his left thigh.

“Is this really the time ?” he asked, squeezing Lafayette's calf. “I feel we are in the middle of something right now.”

“I know,” Gilbert said, gesturing unnecessarily at the evident erection between his legs. “But we should...ah…” George had slid a hand underneath the cotton of his boxers, slow and teasing and delicious.

“Please do keep talking,” George said with a smirk.

“You can't just barge in and take me home during my shift,” Lafayette sighed ; he didn't sound that convinced of his own words. George laid his head on Gilbert's groin, his mouth inches from the wet patch darkening the blue boxers. His steady breathing sent shivers up Lafayette's body.

“I mean, I don't mind, because this is obviously an improvement on every minute of my day. But,” he took in a lungful of air as Washington started mouthing at the head of his straining cock through the fabric, “I like that job and I like _Liberty_. I am not going to quit if…”

He whined when George stopped his ministrations to look at him with a displeased frown. “Who the fuck talked about you quitting ? Do what you do. It's your life. Just don't expect me to sit idly by as you strut around in my underwear and some fucker thinks he can pull you in by the tie like it's a fucking leash.”

“Would you like it better if it were you ?” Lafayette teased. George stifled a laugh by sliding the underwear down his legs and finally getting his mouth on Gilbert's bare cock. “Just like that, _s'il te plaît_ ,” he hissed. “Ah. I am flattered at how possessive you get. I just don't want people to think I get special treatment because I am fucking the boss.”

George felt a pang of something at that. Fucking the boss. That was what it was, wasn't it ? “Would you rather I extended the same treatment to all employees ? As a perk, maybe ?”

“No,” Lafayette almost shouted, sitting back up from his position lying on the bed. “Only me,” he said, pulling George up from between his legs by his shoulder and kissing him, hard and dirty and invasive. Washington smirked into the kiss, making Lafayette kiss it right off his lips. They parted, panting and looking ready to just tear into each other, bodies tense, hands gripping at legs, arms, anyplace they could.

“Do you want to go to dinner with me ?” George asked, almost blurted out.

“Is that a date, boss?” Gilbert smiled. He leant in and nibbled at George's earlobe, his legs wrapping themselves around his waist. “Am I not at your taste enough ?”

George just pushed him back on the bed before getting back to work between his legs.

  


“Can I talk to you ?” Tallmadge lightly knocked on the open door of Alexander's office.

“I like how you say that when you already are halfway in,” Alex remarked. “Come in, Ben.”

Benjamin made his way into the office, scrunching up his nose at the state the room was in. It looked like Hamilton had just spent his night high on crack carefully piling every scrap of paper he could find before just diving into them, scattering them all over his desk, pouring onto the floor. He'd never been to the guy's apartment, but he could only dream of the horror it must have looked like. It was a wonder John had never killed him. The mess would probably just swallow Alex's body whole, never to be recovered : no need to clean up. Benjamin held out his hand to Aaron Burr, sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the desk, before plopping down in the other one. “Hey, Burr.”

“Nice golden shoes,” Aaron said flatly. “Theo would love them.”

“They're copper,” Benjamin looked offended. “How is your wife ? I owe her dinner.”

“She actually wants me to invite you to dinner tomorrow. I was about to come see you.” Aaron looked pained at the idea. “Please bring Caleb. At least I will be able to have a conversation that's not inane with someone.”

“I have known you since Princeton and you never invited me for dinner,” Alexander complained.

“That's because you are a pain in the ass,” Aaron pretty frankly informed him. Tallmadge snorted.

“I am wounded,” Alex continued. “I am being perfectly amicable and polite because Wash wants me to work with you and here you go, insulting me. I could do my job myself, I don't need to be babysat. He says my attention span is shit but honestly I don't see it. At least Theo sends me a card for Christmas, half of that couple is nice enough.”

“She calls everyone else,” Aaron retorted, “but I told her our phone plan didn't have an Alexander-appropriate amount of minutes included.” Benjamin let out a loud laugh. Alexander frowned at him. “Did you just come to mock me, Benjamin ? When you just show up in brown pants that are obviously meant for a sixteen-year-old ?”

“They're chinos, and they're carob,” Tallmadge huffed. “For fuck's sake. Alex, I wanted to talk to you about a pressing, ah, hierarchy matter. Can we... ?” he indicated the door with a nod of his head.

“Anything you say can be said in front of Aaron,” Alex shrugged. It was sweet, in a way. For all the shit Aaron and him talked about each other, they still trusted each other and worked pretty well together. Not for an extended period of time, that was all. Benjamin shrugged as well and went up to close the door before sitting back down.

“Lee wants to overthrow Wash and get Gates in his stead.” There was no use trying to find a politically correct way to say it.

“What the fuck ?” said Aaron, who never swore. “Gates ? I thought he was in DC to be your link to Congress.”

“Yeah, he is supposed to make sure Henry Laurens' syndicate stays on our side,” Alex answered. “John wondered why his dad's letters were getting more probing about Wash's deals. Son of a bitch.”

“I thought John and his father were not on the best of terms ?” Benjamin asked.

“This is not exactly public knowledge, Ben. Keep your nose out of Laurens' business if you want to keep it,” Alex advised, not unkindly. “Anyway, are you sure ?”

“Have I ever been wrong ?” Benjamin bragged. There was a silence. “Culper sent me copies of their texts, okay ? Received them this morning. They don't exactly paint Wash in the best way, if you get me. Lee apparently heard about Lafayette, his most recent text talked about, I quote, “a French fuck he didn't even have the balls to kill”. Gates answered that it was time the old man let it go and someone finally turned up the heat here. That was yesterday's morning.”

Aaron looked at them both in turn. “You don't exactly get fired from Washington's position. It's a position you keep until you slide off the chair with a bullet in the neck.”

 

“This is all a show of strength, Alexander.”

George Washington was sitting, tall and towering, in front of his own desk, Alexander facing him, feeling pretty fidgety. “Of course it is. But you didn't get this far by playing nice, boss. You just can't let them talk like that.”

“Of course not. But we can't just come down on them when they haven't even made a move. They don't even know the texts were intercepted.” Washington was calm and focused.

“You can't tolerate…” Alexander started.

“Hamilton !” Washington snapped. Alexander stood straighter. “Horatio Gates is one of my closest partners. Lee has been in this organization since before you even knew what capitalism was. I will deal with them myself when the time is right and this not all words thrown to the wind. This is a serious accusation, Alexander.”

“They will get to you, Wash. They will not let you talk, it will prove them right. Please let me take care of it,” Alexander pleaded.

“Alexander, your job is to make sure the law can't be on our ass, not to take care of infighting. Let me deal with this.” George was already getting up. The conversation was over. “Stay in your lane, Alexander.”

  


When Alex got home that night, he was pleased to find John standing in front of the sink, dumping pasta into a colander while Simon and Garfunkel played. He made his way to his boyfriend, shedding his jacket, leaving his shoes in the middle of the living room ; he hugged him from behind, hiding his face into his back, inhaling the familiar cinnamon and vaguely sweaty smell of the man he loved.

“Rough day, baby girl ?” John muttered, low and reassuring and _home_.

“I got yelled at by Wash,” Alex complained. John turned around after putting the pasta back into the empty pan, putting his arms around him.

“Poor love,” he cooed. “Did you tell him you wanted Jefferson and Madison to get busted again ? You know they are his main links to the Senate.”

“No,” Alex whined. “Although I think a day or two in jail would benefit Jefferson and maybe he would finally make the right decision concerning mandatory minimums. He fucking knows it's an irrational sentencing policy. It's not even cost-effective and at least judicial discretion would…”

“To the point, love, to the point,” John urged, with a kiss on Alex's forehead, before putting on oven mitts and taking two chicken breasts out of the oven and starting to cut them into strips.

“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, Lee wants to kill Wash,” Alexander said, squatting to get the plates from the cupboard under the counter. He raised an eyebrow as he heard the knife John was using rip against the granite countertop.

“I am sorry, what ?” John all but yelped. “Here you are blabbering about Jefferson and you fail to mention Lee wants to kill the boss ? What the fuck, babe ?”

“Who cares anyway,” Alex shrugged, a petulant pout on his face at getting scolded, he wasn't _blabbering_ , thank you very much, he was raising very valid points about corrupt elected officials and their wrong ideas. “He says we can't do anything while Lee hasn't acted on it. Can't just attack on hearsay and provocation. Literally forbid me to do anything. I mean, I see his point, trust is fundamental in this company, but I just hate the idea of anyone calling him soft. Intimidation is all bastards like Lee and Gates can understand anyway.”

There was a silence. Alexander finished setting the table and turned around where John was stirring the chicken and sauce into the pasta. He was not frowning, not smiling, carefully blank.

“I'll do it,” John said. Alex walked over and grabbed his arm. “He didn't tell you anything about me, did he ? Lee has gone too far. It's one thing to be an ungrateful idiot, it's another to basically bite the hand that feeds all of us.”

“I love you,” Alexander said, and he meant it now more than ever.

 

“Welcome to our home !” yelled Alexander with what had to be the most ridiculous flourish anyone had ever seen.

Lafayette raised a brow, gripping George’s arm a bit tighter. “Alexander wants us to come for a drink,”  he’d said. “It will probably only be the four of us,” he’d said. “It will be quick and then you can blow me in the car,” he’d said. And now he could see, past Alexander’s outstretched arms, the shit-eating grins of Hercules, Peggy, Eliza and Angelica. Several cartons of pizza were lying unopened on the coffee table, as well as three red wine bottles : an uncommon pairing, downright sacrilegious to the Frenchman.

Meanwhile, George was busy taking Lafayette’s coat off his shoulders, hanging it next to his own on the hook near the door. He put a warm, reassuring hand on the small of Gilbert’s back, kissing his cheek chastely and quickly ; Peggy rose from the couch, crossing barefoot to the three of them. She kissed George twice on the cheek then turned to Gilbert and did the same, making him smile and instantly feel more at ease.

“Good evening, Margarita,” George greeted. “I see the whole gang is here. Who is holding down the front at _Liberty_?”

“We got Bullet to do it,” Peggy answered, and George hummed in appreciation. “She was glad for the time out from the stage.”

“I’ll bet,” George nodded. “Margarita, is that a party ?”

Peggy almost choked on her own laughter. « You are such an old man. “Is that a party ? Is that how you teenagers have a whoopee ?” Incredible. Tell me more about the Great Depression, George Milton.”

“Pipe down, bearcat,” he said with a good-natured smile. “You could have told me.”

“Ah, but where is the fun in that,” Hercules said, throwing an arm around Peggy’s shoulders, who furiously blushed. Between their heads, George could see Lafayette being towed away by Alexander, holding his hand firmly, and he felt a pang of _something_ – not jealousy, nobody would be dumb enough to think Hamilton would cheat on John – probably more like dread because it was _Hamilton_ and it was _unplanned_ and _for a little while, maybe, let Gilbert be mine not to share with them._ It was a fine line to tread between jealousy and possessiveness. It felt stupid, it felt too soon, it felt perfect.

Alex forced Lafayette to sit between Eliza and him, putting a glass of wine in his hand while George looked torn between joining them and staring at Hercules’ arm draped around Peggy’s shoulders like it was about to fall off. Eliza shot Lafayette an apologetic look ; he raised an eyebrow at her from behind his glass, raised tentatively to his lips.

“This is Valpolicella,” Alexander said.

“This is Italian horse piss,” Lafayette answered. Alex’s offended yelp was enough to make Lafayette marginally relax, crossing his legs and leaning against the backrest.

“You come into my house, on the day my daughter is to be married…” Alex started, but Angelica cut him off, setting a plate of garlic bread on the table.

“This is ridiculous, Alexander.” She turned to Lafayette. “He is bitter Wash’s new boyfriend is prettier than he is.”

“Do you find me pretty, Alexander ?” Lafayette teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“This is when I come in. Good evening,” George said as he sat down, forcing Alexander to scoot so he could be next to Gilbert, who smiled at him blissfully. “Don’t you have your own man to be a pain to, Hamilton ?”

Alexander frowned. “I didn’t invite Burr. He and Theo are having Tallmadge over.”

Anyone would have been hard-pressed to tell where the sigh came from ; it was general. “I mean your boyfriend, Hamilton,” Washington clarified. “John. Where is John ?”

“I, personally, take offense in the fact that you think I am a pain to my John,” said Alexander, “for whom I only have the purest love and devotion. Anyway, he had a contract to carry out and he didn’t want to wait.”

George frowned. “Is he freelancing ? Nothing was planned the next few days.”

Alex nodded, handing Washington a full glass of wine. He turned to Gilbert. “Now, French fucker, has Wash told you about the time he tried to teach Peggy  how to ride a bike and she knocked his two front teeth off?”

  


“That was an interesting evening,” Gilbert purred, hungry gaze devouring every movement George made as he stripped of his shirt. “Your friends certainly love you.”

George got on the bed, that dipped a little under his weight. “More of a family of sorts. I have known the Schuyler sisters since Eliza couldn’t pronounce her own name.”

“I particularly enjoyed the story of the day you found Eliza and Alexander in bed together,” Lafayette teased as he let his hands run over George’s chest as he sit back against the propped-up pillows.

“What an abominable idea,” George sighed. “Eliza deserves better. Not to say John isn’t a perfectly fine person, but, you know, Alexander’s mess matches his.”

 

Charles Lee was in trouble. One, he was blindfolded. Two, he was strapped to a chair. Now, that may have sounded kinky; it was not. Probably because he was all too familiar with the soft humming coming from in front of him, having heard it during dinners with the Laurens family, a soft-faced, freckled kid helping clear out the dishes; John Laurens was in the room, but he had nothing in common with the South Carolina kid his father had brought to DC in the hopes of handing over to him the reins of his own organization. Maybe something had gone wrong on the way, maybe it had gone exactly the way it was planned. In any way, any self-respecting man in the trade knew that Jacky Laurens was not someone you wanted to deal with. Charles Lee was a self-respecting man. Actually, he respected no one more than himself.

The blindfold was taken off, John appearing in front of Lee’s eyes in a halo of artificial neon lights and surgical metal. From what he could see once his eyes had grown accustomed to the brightness, he was in either a butcher shop or the set of a tv show’s morgue. Too clean, too surreal, too disgustingly pristine. He didn’t have many words he wanted to say. “Let me go,” he eloquently demanded.

“Wow. Now that you asked, I might just consider,” Laurens said. He had a mouth on him, that kid, when it wasn’t filled with Hamilton’s dick. Hamilton. Lee almost snorted. The brat Washington treated as a son. Loud and brash and plain _obnoxious_.

“I can see the wheels into your empty head turning, Lee,” John said. “What are your words of choice today? _Weak_ ? _Old_ ? _Indecisive_ ? _Incompetent_?”

“John,” Lee started, “I thought you knew better than to take your father’s word at face value. I voiced my concerns regarding Washington’s ability to…” his sentence was cut off with an inarticulate shout as John stuffed two fingers in his mouth and pulled on his tongue, chopping off a decent-sized piece with a small, innocent-looking knife. It was blunt. It took several tries. Eventually, Lee decided to use his own teeth to make it go faster, biting his tongue as hard as he could.

 

“I am sorry it was not the quiet evening I had in mind,” George sighed, Lafayette straddling his thighs, spine arched as his hips ground against George’s, trying to find the best angle, the perfect way their cocks would rub against each other, delicious moans spilling out of his sinfully swollen lips.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I think they liked me. It’s a step I wasn’t expecting so soon. _Ah, oui_ . Let me ride you, please,” and George would have been pained to say no to this, slick as he was with precome and Lafayette’s spit, as he took both their dicks into his rough fist, thrusting in time with Gilbert’s staccato breaths, the smaller man stretching to try and grab the lube on the nightstand, obscene smooth planes of dark skin and gorgeous taut muscles underneath. George was reminded of the anatomical sketches he’d seen in the morgue in Philadelphia, when they’d call upon him to identify Lawrence’s body; his brother, in full x-rayed glory, dissected and transparent and so disappointingly human. He wondered what Lafayette’s body would look like, nakeder than naked, and it was an all-consuming fire, the _need_ and the _want_ to be closer, closer, lose himself in Lafayette’s body as it sunk on his and George filled him up, and he bit at his shoulder until he could feel the skin give way and he was _there_.

 

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,” John happily recited, each number punctuated by a pleasing _crack_ as Lee’s finger bones gave way under the push John was giving them. The screaming, though, had stopped. The blood coating Lee’s mouth didn’t have time to dry, and he choked on it, coughing and taking in lungfuls of air alternatively.

“You know, Charles, this is just amazing to me,” he casually said. “Wash - Washington - George Washington, the General - I don’t even _feel_ like I need to defend him, you know? You would think people aren’t stupid enough to doubt him. Obviously I am mistaken.”

Lee made a gurgling noise.

“It’s just - he doesn’t feel like he needs his honor to be defended, that his actions will always ring louder than words. But I just -” a loud _pop_ as he dug his fingers into Lee’s elbow joint, the ligaments giving way under the stress “- don’t understand how ungrateful you have to be. Washington sends you to the Capital, trusts you, _relies_ on you, and you shit the bed and start talking shit? That won’t do, Charles Lee.”

 

Lafayette’s orgasm was a beautiful thing to watch. Wide eyes, taking in each feature of George’s face, cataloguing his pleasure in a serious way he didn’t display at any other moment, mouth dropping open, breath caught in his throat. Washington didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful. He wanted to see it, again and again, be able to sketch it from memory, paint it across the stars with sweat and exhausted, blissful tears.

 

Charles Lee’s death, quite like the man, was messy and painful. John was not particularly proud of his work, but he was satisfied. He texted his boyfriend as he got the sodium hydroxide out from under the sink. He hoped Alex had saved some pizza for him. Maybe he could make them some hot chocolate when he got home.

  


The news of Lee’s death went fast, as they were prone to do. It had been a while since need had arisen to reassert Washington’s authority. What wasn’t exactly public knowledge, though, was the way in which the execution had been carried out.

As a whole, Benedict Arnold was tired. Tired of a line of work he didn’t get much glory out of, tired of being in the shadow, tired of a mediocre life compared to what he felt entitled to. He didn’t hate George Washington. He was just frustrated and angry. When he heard Lee had been disposed of, he wasn’t very moved. When he heard the Laurens son had probably been the one to do it, he huffed in annoyance at the idea that Washington’s close guard would never change. When Tallmadge let slip at the water cooler that Laurens had acted upon his idea, he had smiled at the idea that a position of choice might open up at the right hand of the Father. When Laurens sauntered in, unbothered, everyday for a week, Hamilton looking like he got his ass rammed every night and couldn’t feel better, well, Arnold’s resentment boiled past the frustration point straight into anger territory.

 

At Interpol, John André was all but buried into piles upon piles of uninteresting files Detective Frederick had left for his consideration. Where were the old-fashioned leads, the Kojak-inspired outfits? Lost in bureaucracy, that’s where. There was nothing major in the books, nothing that could give him a hint as to how the Continental Army operated; a few loose ends, mysterious bodies found in the Hudson, drug cargos intercepted and almost immediately released, a climate of fear and silence and _His Excellency_ , a title with no identity behind it, that he was desperately running after.

It was a cloudy Tuesday morning and the sky was heavy with the promise of rain. The barista at the coffee shop had messed up his order, giving him a tall latte with mocha syrup, when he had ordered some English Breakfast tea because he felt patriotic and he was lactose intolerant anyway.

It was the brightest day of his life when he opened the unmarked envelope on his desk, the letter inside reading :

“ _To whomever it may concern:_

_am ready to trade information of the highest level concerning the organization known to you as the Continental Army._

_willing to discuss terms of witness protection and pecuniary reward._

_will be in touch soon._

_B. A.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and being patient. Thank you. I often want to delete my works but your reviews help me not chip away at my life, one bit at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. Just testing the waters for now, so please comment/send a kudo/message me on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight so I can know if you want me to write more !


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